In Bloom
by ouxes
Summary: UA: universe with alterations. These chapters follow the sporadic progression of Dean and Castiel's relationship, from anxious uncertainty to full-blown intimate embrace. Smut in later chapters. Enjoy!
1. Glance of Longing

Castiel suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. As soon as he was visible, it was clear that something was very wrong. He staggered to the floor with a grunt, clutching his head with his jaw clenched in pain.

'Cas! Are you okay? What happened?' Dean asked sharply, lifting the angel under the arms and hauling him onto the bed.

'It was Michael, he tore my wing.'

'He tore your _wing_?' Sam repeated, his eyebrows raised. 'Somehow I forgot you had those.'

'Stand back,' Castiel insisted feebly, and, after exchanging a look, both Sam and Dean complied.

Once they were about six feet away, Castiel closed his eyes and a pair of great feathery black wings became tangible before them, each wing raised to the ceiling at least fifteen feet apart. The room seemed to shrink into their sheer size.

'Whoa,' Dean breathed, following their length with his eyes.

Seeing Castiel, that awkward man in his trench coat, sitting at the base of these two majestic wings made Dean look at the angel in a different light. It was a sad and yet beautiful sight; too often did Dean forget how powerful Castiel really was. The wings seemed to say it all.

'There,' said Cas, wincing slightly as he raised his arm to point to where a few feathers stuck out at an odd angle, stuck together with congealed blood. 'That's where he grabbed me. I can't reach, would one of you –?'

'Ah, sure,' shrugged Dean, attempting nonchalance despite being desperately curious.

'I'll, erm, go grab the first aid kit from the car,' said Sam.

He cast Cas another look of surprise before exiting the room.

'So, what happened?' Dean pressed.

'Michael didn't want me to leave. He tried to force me but I got away.'

Castiel slumped against the pillows with his neck crooked at an odd angle. Dean looked over in alarm.

'Hey,' he murmured, grabbing a pillow from the other bed to put under the angel's head. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm still seeing double but that may be the painkillers,' he replied, his voice weak and croaky.

'You took aspirin?'

Castiel nodded.

'Three,' he said.

'It wouldn't take three to mess with you head –'

'Three boxes.'

'Oh.'

Dean squatted down by his head, his hand lingering on Castiel's wrist. The angel was staring right at him but his eyes kept shifting in and out of focus. Dean couldn't help but notice how Cas's long black wings folded in around him as though of their own accord; it was as though he and Cas were suddenly locked away, hidden from the world in their own little bubble, perfectly private and alone together.

'Well, you don't have to worry about anything except getting yourself back together,' Dean told him firmly, stroking his thumb over Castiel's skin. 'I'm gonna take care of you.'

'I know,' Castiel mumbled. 'I was never worried.'

A bubble of blood burst at the corner of his mouth and Dean raised his hand to wipe the trickle away. The tip of his forefinger hovered at Castiel's lips, a mere inch above them, as a boiling urge seized hold of Dean and told him to touch the angel's mouth again. Desire throbbed through his body as he stared at Cas's slightly parted lips. He looked up and received a bolt of shock upon realising Cas was still looking at him; something burned behind the angel's eyes as he drank in Dean's indecision. A wall came crashing down – no, it dissolved between them as Dean's breath washed over Castiel's neck, as his hand smoothed over his jaw to hold his face firmly in place for the moment they had both privately been anticipating for a very long time.

'I got it,' said Sam's hurried voice, and the tension shattered immediately.

Castiel's wings unfolded so quickly he knocked the bedside lamp to the floor where it smashed.

'Whoops,' he croaked. 'One of the main reasons I never have these out.'

Sam began bandaging the damaged wing but Dean was preoccupied by the thoughts that now consumed his mind. He sat back and watched Sam's progress without really seeing it. Castiel was a friend – more like a brother, nothing more; then why did Dean feel suddenly so overwhelmed with the desire to touch the guy?

He looked up at Cas and saw the angel looking back at him. Castiel smiled a serene sort of smile, and Dean could not help but smile back. They both were well aware that their brief encounter was far from over.


	2. A Kiss

The still silence of the empty hotel room was shattered as Castiel and Dean both appeared out of thin air, panting and gasping in a bloody mess of tattered clothing and sweat.

'Dean,' Castiel breathed, as he helped heave the man onto the hotel bed.

Dean fell back with a grunt of pain and clenched his jaw to hold back any more signs of his suffering.

'Dammit, Cas, you shouldn't've come,' he growled at the angel.

Castiel threw him a petulant look as he stood at the kitchen sink pouring water into a glass. Dean pulled his shirt off over his head with difficulty as the material scraped over his open wounds. His glistening torso was peppered with shards of glass, his left eye was glued shut with dried blood and he strongly suspected his thumb and forefinger to be broken. Cas, too, was feeling his share of injury though it was not as severe. An angelic blade had sliced his forearm and the wound was bleeding profusely, but other than that his vessel was primarily clean save for where the material of his trench coat was burned through to his shoulder.

'Grab one of my shirts,' Dean pressed, wincing slightly as he looked down to pick the larger shards of glass from his pectorals.

'Excuse me?' Cas frowned.

'My shirt.' Dean pointed at his rucksack at the foot of the bed. 'Clean yourself up and put on one of those.'

'Okay,' said Cas warily, still frowning.

He placed a glass of water and the first aid kit on the table beside Dean before proceeding to shake his trench coat off. Dean's fingers paused on his chest as his eyes drank in the spectacle of Castiel undressing. Never had he seen the angel without his characteristic getup, and yet now a strange side of humanity seemed to prevail through the normal façade. The clothes came off, as did the mask.

When Castiel stood at the foot of Dean's bed in naught but his trousers a shiver of trepidation mixed with something else ran down Dean's spine. Cas's taught, sweaty torso shone slightly in the warm orange lamplight and all pain left Dean's mind as the desire to reach forward and touch the angel overwhelmed him.

Cas bent down to the rucksack and Dean averted his eyes, clearing his throat as he did so, and occupied himself with extracting a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit beside him.

'Let me help,' said Cas, and Dean looked up only for his jaw to drop.

Castiel stood there in one of Dean's baggy grey Led Zeppelin t-shirts, looking perhaps more angelic than he ever had done. The light in Dean's eyes did not go amiss.

'What is it?' Cas asked swiftly. 'Is this the wrong attire?'

'No, no,' Dean grinned. 'No, it's – it looks great.'

Cas's eyes softened as he looked down at Dean's smiling face and he leaned forward to slip the tweezers from his hand. Dean's fingers burned at Castiel's touch. The bed sank slightly as the angel sat beside Dean and began working to pick out the shards of glass.

'That encounter was too close for my liking,' Cas murmured, a frown creasing his brow. 'You were in terrible danger, and I was almost too late.'

'But you weren't,' Dean encouraged. 'I'm here and I'm fine.'

'Hardly.'

He could see the anguish in Cas's face as the angel studied his wounded chest.

'Hell.' Dean laughed humourlessly and looked up at the ceiling. 'For a moment there I thought I was gonna lose you.'

'It would take more than that to kill me. Don't worry, I won't ever leave you, Dean.'

It was then that Dean realised his hand was trembling. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes to calm himself. It was not the adrenaline from the fight just gone but the shock of Cas's closeness, not to mention the desire pulsing rapidly through his body. He fought against the bulge throbbing in his jeans.

'You need to be more careful,' Castiel lectured gently, as he dropped bloody glass into the petri-dish at his elbow. 'I could not bear to lose you, either.'

'Dude, you've been alive for what – ten thousand years? If I die you'll just go on living your life.'

Suddenly, the angel's face hardened and he dropped the tweezers onto Dean's chest. His eyes blazed with holy wrath, his jaw clenched with unspoken outrage and his two strong hands clasped either side of Dean's face. He brought the man's head up close to his until the tips of their noses were but three inches away. Dean stared.

'Don't you ever say that again,' Castiel growled fiercely. 'I won't – I cannot ever let you die.'

And with that, the angel pressed his lips against Dean's bloody ones. The erratic, burning tension seemed to be cooled immediately and both Dean and Castiel, despite clenched hands, breathed each other for what felt like an eternity that passed too quick.

When they broke apart, Castiel's eyes were still sharp and hard yet his mind could not help but soften at Dean's unfathomably childlike surprise.

'I have given you everything that is in my power to give,' said the angel lowly. 'Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. Think about that next time you doubt me.'

And before Dean could even gather his thoughts to respond, the angel disappeared with a swirl of invisible wings.


	3. Invitation

The weak autumn light was fading to a stormy evening as Dean sat flicking through an Old Norse text on elves. His eyes were running across each sentence but they weren't taking anything in, not really. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have put the book down without pretending to care about elves at all; but he was too afraid to think about the images that were tugging at the back of his mind. Every time he hit a full-stop, a new image would flash across his mind's eye accompanied by varying emotions. The images were different, some of them memories and some imagination, but they all featured a common denominator: Castiel. The angel flitted around Dean's mind, probed at his consciousness until he forgot he was even pretending to read at all. The memory of when he had woken half-naked in the hotel with Cas at his side sent a churning shiver down into his gut; knowing that Castiel had rescued him, undressed him, touched his bare skin… What had the angel thought about? Was he possessed by the same repetitive urges day in and day out? Was he struggling to concentrate on anything other than putting his hands right –

'Hello, Dean.'

Dean almost dropped his book in shock as Castiel himself appeared in the doorway, his shoulders dotted by dark raindrops and his hair stuck down to his forehead.

'Cas,' Dean growled angrily. 'What've I told you about doin' that?'

'Sorry.'

Dean wasn't particularly mad at Castiel, he was more embarrassed at himself – it was as though Cas had walked in on him doing something inappropriate. He hoped the angel did not notice the colour in his cheeks.

'How did – where did you go?' he asked hurriedly, looking up at the angel's mild face.

'Detroit,' Castiel replied. 'There's something on your mind.'

'What?'

'You weren't reading that book, you were just looking at the page.'

'Uh, okay.'

'What's the matter?'

Castiel sat down on the couch opposite Dean and waited expectantly with his palms rested flat upon his knees. Dean raised his eyebrows.

'Nothin',' he retorted. 'It's not like I'd tell you anyway.'

'Why?' Castiel frowned. 'I would like to believe you could tell me anything.'

'Yeah, not after last night.'

Dean laughed humourlessly and got to his feet, tossing the book down upon the table. Castiel remained seated but followed Dean's movements around the sofa with confused and anxious eyes.

'I brought you here from potential peril,' the angel articulated. 'Healed you and ensured your safety –'

'Only to walk out on me!' Dean cut in. 'What was with that, man? You go to all that trouble to make sure I'm alright before goin' ahead and givin' me a talkin' to. What was it, you wanted a clean slate?'

'I am sorry, Dean –'

'You seem to say that a lot.'

Dean breathed angrily through his nostrils as he glared at his angel companion. Castiel sighed and brought his palms together.

'I am sorry I allowed my fear to … run away with me,' he finished. 'I was angry that you had been so careless. I was worried for you, that is all. I am sorry that I hurt you.'

A lingering silence followed these words until Castiel had to glance up at Dean's face to gauge a reaction. Something behind Dean's eyes appeared to have softened, though that was the only hint of any relent; the rest of his body was tense and rigid, in defence-mode.

'And, what about the other thing?' Dean asked gruffly.

Castiel frowned.

'What other thing?'

'Y'know, the other thing that happened before you left.'

'When I brought you here?'

'When – when you kissed me, God dammit!'

Castiel frowned even deeper, his confusion exacerbated by the intense look of discomfort upon Dean's face. The man suddenly looked more like a child, like an embarrassed adolescent confronting a threatening issue.

'Is that not how humans display affection?' Castiel asked slowly.

'Y-yeah, but it's more like the "I-wanna-get-jiggy-with-you" kinda affection.'

'I don't understand that reference.'

'It's not a reference, it's – never mind.' Dean ran his fingers through his hair. 'I don't get you, man.'

'Do you want to?' said Castiel, and the sincerity in his invitation caused a shiver of longing to prick up Dean's spine.

Instead of answering with words, Dean sat down next to the angel and stared at the carpet, his elbows on his knees.

'Some sense'd be nice,' he grumbled. 'No more of this confusing mumbo-jumbo.'

Suddenly, Castiel disappeared however before Dean could even get to his feet, the angel had reappeared with a bottle of amber liquid in his hand and a smile on his face.

'This will help to make up your mind,' he said, and Dean could not help but privately agree.


End file.
